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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27083434">we're heading into the dark (one day at a time)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowiminexile/pseuds/nowiminexile'>nowiminexile</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, F/F, Time Loop</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 02:14:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,045</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27083434</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowiminexile/pseuds/nowiminexile</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is that your homework, kid?" Jamie says, eyeing Flora’s hands. There are more dolls, and Jamie watches in fascination as Flora works her hands gently. Whatever she’s doing, it doesn’t look quite like what Miss Jessel would assign for homework.</p><p>"I'm working on a project," Flora tells her, with all the self-importance of an eight year old. It's kind of adorable. </p><p>"What sort of a project?" Jamie says, equally serious, a small smirk on her face. “Anything I can help with?”</p><p>"It’s just a little puzzle,” Flora starts. She peers at her, with her dark and very serious eyes before looking around and then lowering her voice. “Say, Jamie, have you ever played with puzzles before?"</p><p>"Well, sure I have.” Jamie answers. “What kind of puzzle? Need any help with the pieces?"</p><p>"No, no. You’re all the right pieces," Flora says with a nod, “You’re just not in any of the right places.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dani Clayton/Jamie, Hannah Grose/Owen Sharma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>we're heading into the dark (one day at a time)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i had this really weird idea that's honestly a cross between what being tucked away means in the show and reincarnating and time loops. i blame my philosophy class for this so, enjoy this sad rambling. this may or may not turn into a multi chapter fic</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>1.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jamie was never a runner.</p><p>Not like her father. Never like her father. But she settles in a way, like her father. She becomes a coal miner. In a small and quiet town in Bly, tucked so far from the jolly corner of where she came from—it’s almost like she grew up there. The accent is telling, but the townspeople are a scattered bunch themselves. Of different people from different places.</p><p>Maybe they’re all running from something. Which, Jamie would like to clarify, is not at all what she’s doing.</p><p>Hannah likes to talk about it like its new beginnings. “The past is fickle,” she says. “We think we have it trapped in our memories, but memories fade and they’re wrong. We could forget our entire lives so quickly that we have no choice but to start all over.” </p><p>Jamie understands. There’s something in the stillness of this town. The repetition of it all is calming. But it also makes her itch. A kind of an itch that has her out of bed at five, wandering the rest of the town in the foggy mornings before she goes down and deep into the dirt to dig up death. </p><p>It’s the same kind of itch that has her falling back to old habits, Jamie will come to realize. </p><p>The pawnshop is empty, always empty in the early mornings, and far too tempting when she catches another man slipping through the crack in the door. It is almost too easily when she enters, perusing whatever Wingrave has left unguarded in his drunken stupor.</p><p>“Idle hands, Sheriff,” Jamie says when she sits behind bars, “You know what they say.”</p><p>And then Sheriff Sharma nods, like he understands. Stares at her hands, covered in dust and in coal, and he gives her a new job. </p><p>She refuses, but he doubles down and his kindness and his affinity for puns only seems to grow on her and suddenly she’s got a badge and a gun strapped to her hip and she’s now Deputy Sheriff.</p><p>He gives her a uniform too, but she laughs in his face. She keeps the windbreaker though, bundles up in it as the cold seeps into their small town, and she's saddled with the graveyard shift for the first few weeks. It feels like she’s walking the town again, waiting and anticipating when she’ll dig down into the dirt. But no. This time, she’s on the surface and dealing with far too many people and yet so few all at once. It's a new normal for her, a new routine. Where days becomes weeks becomes months and it all blurs until it feels like the same day.</p><p>That’s the thing about small towns. Small towns so quiet like this, there’s more gossip than there are any crimes. Her morning walks turn into early morning runs, because that’s the thing with idle hands and idle minds. They don't ever stop turning. But the running makes the itch go away. At dawn, the air's fresh and crisp, blessed, blessed silence wrapping the town in its arms. Jamie likes Bly like this. Are you sure, asks the stupid voice inside her head and Jamie shoves that thought aside.</p><p>She runs down Bly and past Hannah’s Diner, shutters still down and none of the clatter of cutlery and the sound of patrons' voices. The station and the Town Hall. Down to the beach, where she pauses to stretch and breathe.</p><p>Some mornings, Peter Quint will show up in a boat with his little boy. She can’t quite figure out what he does, always lingering around the docks she ought to arrest him for loitering. But then he spins all these deep and dark tales of his adventures in the sea in his jarring Scottish accent, he keeps this jolly tone in his voice that Jamie knows is more for himself than it is for her. </p><p>She doesn’t ask about what he’s running from, she doesn’t ask who that little boy is to him. Jamie sits and listens, until one day. </p><p>"Why here? Why not, I don’t know, somewhere more..." Jamie asks him, floundering, always missing a word, and he responds with a shrug. There’s this faraway look in his eyes, the shadows of the early morning mask his face and he doesn’t look quite as kind as before—like two faces in two parts—but it flickers away just as quickly.</p><p>He doesn't have answers. Nobody in this town does, Jamie knows by now, just like every other person in this sleepy little town where time stands still. Nobody comes and nobody goes. Not quite a turn of the screw, but it grows to become so. </p><p>Jamie imagines a boat of her own, sometimes, and an entire ocean to lose herself in. But she’s not a runner, no. She never has been, so she thinks of somewhere more grounded, a place with so many roots she could never be uprooted or forgotten. A garden, maybe.</p><p>Some mornings she runs all the way to the town line, and imagines running far, far away and never looking back.</p><p>And on some mornings she runs past the manor on Bly and acts like her heart doesn’t race. She doesn’t think of the little girl who lives there and looks at her, like she has answers to all the questions she’ll never ask. The little girl and her au pair and the empty space next to them that Jamie can’t quite figure out why it feels wrong.</p><p>But nothing ever happens.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>2.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>There’s someone new in town. </p><p>The thing about small towns, as before, is that gossip spreads rather quickly. Jamie has learned to tune it all out over the past few months. Nothing good when hearing old ghosts groan of this great good place. </p><p>When Jamie enters the diner, there’s a titer in the air and far more hustle and bustle than there normally is. The excitement is contagious and even Owen jumps into conversation with a few patrons over his morning tea. But Jamie can’t quite make herself care.   </p><p>Hannah swings by from behind the kitchen, like she always does every morning, and with her is another cuppa. Owen smiles at her, this light and twinkling in his eyes, and she smiles back. Jamie snickers to herself, and like she always does, she teases Hannah into sitting down.</p><p>“Give it a rest now, Hannah,” Jamie says, “They’re all too busy gossipin’ their hearts out. Join us, why don’t you?” </p><p>And Hannah will blush, she’ll sit down next to Owen, and for an hour, it’ll be something close to happiness watching these people, who have come close to being her friends, and the gossip and the whispers all fade to black.</p><p>The only thing she catches after it all is this: newlyweds searching for a place to settle, a husband rather dedicated to numbers and a wife with a gift for teaching or rather, herding rowdy children.</p><p>Later that week, the station gets a call. Owen gives her a look, and she picks up the old phone and crosses her fingers, hoping it’s only a cat in a tree like it is every week or so. What she hears is a melodic voice, tentative and nervous, and it sets her on edge.</p><p>“Hello?” The voice whispers, with trepidation and panic. And then there’s a scream and the phone goes dead. Her first thought is about small towns, small towns and their affinity for quiet and small towns and their affinity for murder. </p><p>Mayor Lloyd smooths it all over. A prank call, she says. One she’s received at her office and one that Henry has received as well. She laughs, deliberate and melodic, with an easy smile on her lips. “There’s nothing to worry about,” She repeats, though her eyes tell another story. </p><p>Their visitors from out of town are never mentioned again, not a peep from the patrons or a whisper in passing. Jamie struggles to even remember what they look like, who they were. Newlyweds, a wife, and—</p><p>A widow, wandering the town in the darkness. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
3.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jamie dreams—</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>—of a greenhouse, surrounded by the scent of roses and asters, the night sky a dark canopy lit by the moon only, and there’s a crackling of bonfire in the back of her mind, just burning, burning, burning.</p><p>There’s a woman sitting beside her on the couch, her cheeks are tearstained and Jamie is overcome with this feeling of sadness. </p><p>“I sometimes, I...It’s like...I see him.” She turns to Jamie again, her eyes welling with tears. “I’ve never told anybody that.”</p><p>"I’m so, so sorry.” Jamie says. </p><p>“We were about to break up. We, uh...I'd broken...We had broken up. I'd broken up, I guess.” A pause, and she looks at Jamie with this familiar gaze, burning with guilt. “Right before. I mean, right.. right before.” </p><p>“Jesus...the same day?” Jamie asks. </p><p>“Yeah.” She nods.</p><p>“Is he here now?” She looks around, then, “No.” She sighs, Jamie can’t tell if it’s relief or something else, but there’s grief in the way her shoulders drag down.</p><p>“Good.” Jamie says a moment later. “Cause, you know, I’ll sort him out for you if I have to.” She shrugs. “Oi...dead boyfriend! Give it up, mate! It’s over!”</p><p>And the lady, she smiles. She smiles this tightlipped watery smile. It betrays so much, so much that Jamie feels like she should know—but she doesnt, she can’t remember—and she feels at a loss.</p><p>“Seriously, Poppins. How are you still standing?”</p><p>“Think I’m crazy?”</p><p>“I think you’re surprisingly sane, considering.” </p><p>She sniffles and lets out a shaky breath then. </p><p>“Look...I know what it feels like...to feel like you can’t find your—” </p><p>And there are soft lips on hers. Hands around her neck, down her arms, and. </p><p>And she doesn’t flinch away.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>4.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Friday mornings are for meetings with Mayor Lloyd.</p><p>Owen sends her off—it’s her turn again for the second week this month—and she trudges in, unease settling quickly. Boss Lady always looks at Jamie like she’s all wrong, like the stench of death still clings to her even after those days are long gone. And Jamie goes, because she has to, and she goes and endures. Like she always has. </p><p>Some days the mayor's au pair is there, head tilted down and meek and flinching when Viola eventually snaps and yells, but dutifully by her side with her notepad and her pen. She holds herself like she wants to be strong, but she looks far too fragile. Jamie can hardly remember a name. She only remembers her from a few incident reports, the ones with a drunk husband—gone, now, from a tragic car accident—and the kidnapping scare at the manor. </p><p>She refuses to meet her eyes. </p><p>But Jamie can feel those eyes on her, when she isn’t looking. She never speaks directly to her. Jamie's heart skips a beat regardless, because she doesn't know how not to pine. She doesn’t think she’s ever met someone so capable of captivating her. There’s a gravity around her that Jamie cannot resist, it seems.</p><p>Some days their eyes will meet—over a booth at Hannah’s Diner when the door chimes, across the street from the station, or in the window of Bly Manor on her nightly and early morning patrols—and Jamie swears she sees a flicker of… something.<br/>
 <br/>
A hint of recognition that makes Jamie ache, deep in her bones.</p><p>It burns and burns and Jamie doesn’t know why.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>5.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes. Sometimes, she wakes up with a scream on her lips. A name at the tip of her tongue, one she can never recall once she wakes, and a burning in her lungs. </p><p>There are snatches of conversation that turn in her head, with a face she can never make out and these mismatched eyes that never settle—</p><p>("Is that a moonflower?"</p><p>"Yeah.”</p><p>“They’re really rare, you know.” </p><p>“I’ve got a problem. Or rather, we’ve got a problem, Poppins."</p><p>“Oh, no.”</p><p>“You see...I’m not sick of you. At all. I’m actually pretty in love with you, it turns out.” </p><p>And then those mismatched eyes light up, and soft lips on her own of kisses that taste sweet with no lingering bitterness or guilt and hands wandering, wandering, wandering...)</p><p> </p><p>—and Jamie aches. She wants to know who it is, who could have completed her so easily. </p><p>Maybe she's just losing her mind, or maybe all this pinning has become far too much. But all Jamie wants to do is fill in the gap with—.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>6.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The flight back to the manor is quiet. The ride back to the manor is quiet. </p><p>It is the quiet that kills her slowly. It rests on her chest, heavy and dark and it feels as if she’s caring far too much. But she’s never been the sentimental type.     </p><p>Her hand drifts to her pocket, runs over this parchment paper and the handwriting on it. And Jamie knows what it says, but she doesn’t open it. She doesn’t dare read it again, the words sear into her mind and with it the memories of a warm bed, soft hands, and time, only time—</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>—oh, how did it go wrong?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
7.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The Mayor has a child. </p><p>Not one of her own, no, but adopted—though more likely inherited from a brother or uncle, no one ever really knows for certain. But her daughter is an odd little girl. About eight, a mop of brown hair and dark, serious eyes that drift far away, looking into empty spaces as if shapes were meant to fill them. </p><p>Jamie runs into her alone at Hannah’s, sitting in a booth all by herself. Her au pair is nowhere to be found but Flora is unbothered, staring into the space beside her with a small smile on her face. Her hands are busy, playing with a doll and her milkshake lies forgotten in front her on the table. </p><p>She smiles when she looks up and spots Jamie, bright and wide. "Jamie!"</p><p>"Hello, Flora," Jamie says. "You here on your own?"</p><p>"Mother is speaking with Miss Jessel," Flora says matter of factly. "Miss Clayton is still at the office, so Miss Grose is watching me." </p><p>The manners of the kid, Jamie thinks. She doesn't really like kids, but there's something about this girl. There’s something different.</p><p>"Mind if I join you?" She asks, and gets an eager nod in response.</p><p>They sit in amicable silence for a while. Jamie chances a glance past the counter and sees Hannah nod, a grateful smile on her face. Flora fiddles with a new doll while Jamie sips on her tea. She sits back and watches as the afternoon rush passes and a calm sweeps over the diner. </p><p>"Is that your homework, kid?" Jamie says, eyeing Flora’s hands. There are more dolls, and Jamie watches in fascination as Flora works her hands gently. Whatever she’s doing, it doesn’t look quite like what Miss Jessel would assign for homework.</p><p>"I'm working on a project," Flora tells her, with all the self-importance of an eight year old. It's kind of adorable. </p><p>"What sort of a project?" Jamie says, equally serious, a small smirk on her face. “Anything I can help with?”</p><p>"It’s just a little puzzle,” Flora starts. She peers at her, with her dark and very serious eyes before looking around and then lowering her voice. “Say, Jamie, have you ever played with puzzles before?"</p><p>"Well, sure I have.” Jamie answers. “What kind of puzzle? Need any help with the pieces?"</p><p>"No, no. You’re all the right pieces," Flora says with a nod, “You’re just not in any of the right places.” </p><p>Jamie, well, Jamie stares. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>8.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The lake stares back at her.</p><p>The reflection Jamie sees is herself, but what she wants are mismatched eyes, soft lips, blonde locks, and who is she. </p><p>She stands at the shore for what feels like forever. The fog creeps in, and there are no birds chirping, but everything closes in on her. On this shore, on this property in Bly. On a lake that doesn’t exist in Bly.</p><p>Jamie wades in, one foot after the other, her feet sinking deep into the muddy bank until she’s almost under, the water rising up to her chest. That heavy feeling grows and it’s as if time slows down.</p><p>She dives down, deeper and deeper into murky water. There is only darkness, no light, but she swims desperately. Deeper and deeper. Jamie doesn’t know what she’s looking for. But she reaches out, and then everything flashes.   </p><p>She’s being held underwater, a hand at her neck squeezing tighter and tighter, and she can’t see, can’t make out the figure looming above her until she’s sinking down, deep into the lake. </p><p>It's possible she blacks out for a moment. It's possible she dies and goes to heaven because when she opens her eyes it's to gaze upon a pair of deep blue eyes and a blank face, unmoving at the bottom of the lake.<br/>
Jamie screams, water catching in her throat, and she fights. Her body struggles for her, the survival instincts kicking in as her lungs begin to burn but her mind and her heart stays focused on this lady of the lake, sinking and fading and there’s this emptiness that creeps into her but then— </p><p>—"Hello, Sheriff," A voice she rarely ever hears speaks up. There’s a timid smile on her face.</p><p>Jamie sits up so quickly she nearly upturns the creaky office chair. Her mouth feels dry. Her heart beats faster and faster and all she can see is that image, and this lady in front of her who is and isn't her. Is she awake or asleep?</p><p>"Deputy Sheriff," Jamie says automatically. “Hello.”</p><p>And Jamie must sound entirely out of it, because she says, "Are you all right?"</p><p>"I was dreaming. There was a lake and—." I was dreaming of you, she wants to say but the words catch in her throat much like the water, filling in her lungs. "It felt so real. All these dreams, they’re so vivid sometimes." Jamie tells her instead.</p><p>Dani Clayton looks at her like she wants to say something.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>song inspo for this chapter was cardigan by taylor swift and from eden by hozier</p></blockquote></div></div>
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